Setting Free
by Sapsorrow86
Summary: When Rumplestiltskin, suspicious of Jones's sudden reappearance hundreds of years after their last encounter, follows the pirate into the Queen's Fortress he gets more than he bargained for. (Spoilers for Queen of Hearts).


**Warning: This is based on a sneak peek for tomorrow's episode, Queen of Heart. Those who do not wish to be spoiled at all shouldn't read it till you've seen the episode.**

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He had been tracking Jones, or Hook, as he called himself nowadays. He had been surprised to see him alive after such a long time, but soon had gotten wind of his adventures in Neverland. Still he had known nothing in that realm would've helped him get any closer to killing him, so he hadn't been overly-preoccupied. But his plans were close to fruition, and he was adamant no loose end from his spinner days would ruin his work. He was nearer Bae than he had ever been since the day the vortex closed and he was not about to let all his effort come to naught.

He had caught up with him near the queen's palace. It seemed the little pirate thought an alliance with his former apprentice would get him closer to killing him. He decided to let the meeting happen. He'd been curious for a while about whether Regina had somehow found out his weakness, and he knew that, if she had, she wouldn't hesitate sharing the information with Jones in order to get him to do the dirty deed- getting the dagger- himself. Later he'd dispose of the Captain, and it would serve as a warning to Regina never to attempt the same feat. He made himself invisible, quite an easy task, and shadowed the pirate's steps, silent as a mouse.

Strangely enough Hook didn't request an audience, simply snuck inside, which was unnecessarily difficult if the man planned to talk to the Queen. He found his way, through some rather heavy concealment spells the Imp did not know how he had broken, up a rather long flight of stairs. He could feel more and more of the Queen's magic coat the air as they climbed, but Hook seemed equipped with some sort of device or protection that cut through it like it was butter. It was then that the Dark One started thinking he might have stumbled into more than he had thought at first. This had "secretive" and "important" written all over it and for once Rumplestiltskin felt glad Jones had decided to return to their realm.

When he came upon a heavy wooden door he almost let out a nervous giggle. Magic bounced off of him, eager to ruin yet another of Regina's plans and gloat over it the next time she so carelessly decided to enter his castle. Whatever it was he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was big. Jones seemed to come prepared with a key that was more magic than metal, and did the trick beautifully. The room it uncovered was small and round, with a tiny window that provided the only source of light and a dingy cot pushed up against a corner. Markings decorated the walls, straight lines in groups of four crossed over by a diagonal line to make five. On top of the cot there seemed to rest a bundle of rags, only the bundle moved at Hook knelt beside him. He shook it, and it soon stirred, rising to a sitting position and brushing long brown hair back. The startling blue eyes that peered with a healthy dose of mistrust at the pirate captain made the imp freeze, the air whooshing out of his lungs so loudly he thought he was glad he had thought about ensuring his silence magically.

It couldn't be. His mind had finally snapped, it seemed, and had concocted up the whole scenario. He was probably passed out drunk in his spinning room, the chipped tea cup between his clawed hands like it happened at least once a week. He'd soon wake up, no tower, no Hook and no Belle, and laugh at himself. This was the spinner inside him wanting his second chance yet again, wishing for what he couldn't have and being too afraid to face the reality of his loss.

"Who are you?" Belle's raspy voice almost had him on his knees "What are you doing here? If the Queen finds you she'll kill you."

The Queen. Her "friend" the Queen. Oh, how well and truly awful those words seemed in that tiny little room, with its filthy little cot and its stale air. The Dark One huddled in a corner of the room near the door, the wall keeping him upright when all he wanted was to sink to the floor and hide his head in his lap until the illusion shattered and he could weep in peace.

"I'm here to rescue you."

A primal part of Rumplestiltskin, more Dark One than nothing, bristled at those words, unfurling inside him to snarl in the direction of the pirate captain as he took Belle's ankle in his hands and used the magical key to unlock the shackle there.

"Who- who are you?"

Jones was quick undoing the cuffs on her wrist, but even though he was careful with his hook the Dark One wanted to fling him in the opposite direction, lest he accidentally scrape Belle's skin. The rest of him, however, the part that was still poor and cowardly and new nothing of backbones or assertiveness kept him frozen in place, barely breathing.

Through the roaring of his blood in his ears he heard Hook spin a web of lies, about Sir Maurice and his need of help, about the monster who had stolen her away threatening her homeland and the only family she had left. At the mention of his name from her lips his attention zeroed in on the conversation, his eyes watching as a smile of disbelief formed across his Belle's face.

Hook hauled her to her feet, and Rumplestiltskin growled low in his throat, eyeing the arm clamped around her thin forearm with hatred. That mangy little pirate was manhandling her. _How dare he._

So focused was he on the physical contact he almost missed the man's next words. Hook sought a weakness, his weakness, and he thought his little caretaker, the only person to last several months in his constant presence, would know it. He sought to use her, and probably discard her to tie up loose ends. That worthless little maggot, unworthy of looking at Belle, much less talk to her, thought to use her.

Belle, however, seemed to have other ideas.

"I've no idea what you're talking about and I have no idea how to... kill Rumplestiltskin," Belle's voice rose with each word, growing defiant "Nor would I."

She practically spat the last part, her tone leaving no doubt about where she stood on the matter. Instantly Jones's demeanour changed, from faux concern and gentleness to dry, un-amused disappointment.

"Well, then I'm afraid I'm not here to rescue you."

The blow came from nowhere, startling both the imp and the prisoner. Belle fell on the cot, unconscious, and Rumplestiltskin saw red. Magic bubbled in his blood, tingling as it gathered on his fingertips, ready to pull, shred, tear and devour. He'd cut Jones open with his own hook, gut him like the pig he was and force him to write an apology with his own innards on the floor before he granted him the mercy of death. He would keep him in the brink, barely alive, for days, weeks even, enacting any and all forms of torture he could come up with. And the Dark One could think of oh-so-many it was almost poetic.

His thoughts of blood and satisfaction were halted by the progression of the man's hook as it lunged for his Belle's throat. His magic instinctively wrapped itself around the girl in gossamer threads of silk, granting her skin the strength and endurance of steel. It was all for naught, however, since Regina snatched the offending appendage away, murmuring something about the girl being "a valuable chess piece". The Dark One raged at the mere idea, but Rumplestiltskin held still and silent. No use getting into a fight while Belle lay unconscious a few feet away. He watched the pair trade barbs and talk about him and his demise. When Regina spoke the words he'd wanted to hear he barely paid her any attention, taking from a tiny jar he kept in his pocket one of his spy spells, this one looking like an ordinary scarab. He let it chase them as they left the cell, the Queen quick to seal the door magically before going down the stairs. Like that would help now.

He approached the cot with slow, trembling steps and baited breath, falling on his knees beside it with something that was both a giggle and a sob. The first thing Rumplestiltskin noticed was a white, bare thigh peeking out of a torn blue shift. His eyes soon travelled downwards, finding a knee and then a shapely calf, the skin a bit dirty but still creamy and inviting. How he had dreamed of such a sight many a night back in the Dark Castle, after his maid had spent the day atop ladders cleaning, her prim and proper dress riding up enough to tempt him with glimpses of things he couldn't have. He felt guilty about the direction his thoughts took. She needed his help, not his lust, but neither the Dark One nor Rumplestiltskin had ever seen a more delicious display of skin, all at arm's length, so close he could not help himself and delicately brushed his fingertips across the skin visible just below the hipbone. He exhaled a shuddery breath. She was real, and warm and silky to the touch. Alive. Well.

"Belle..." he whispered, his other hand gently moving strands of hair away from her face. The dark circles under her eyes were unmistakeable, and as he inspected the rest of her he could see the angry marks the manacles had left on her wrists and ankle, as well as some dark bruises in various places. He shuddered at the idea that the torn shift, which snugly covered most of her upper body, could be hiding more injuries. So lost wallowing in his misery was he that he didn't see her eyes flutter opened nor her hand move till she was tracing gentle paths on his forehead.

"I'm dreaming of you again," she whispered, her tone sad, resigned. The imp let out a giggle entirely out of place in the situation.

"I'd hope your mind would know better by now, dearie, than to give you horrible nightmares."

Just as the hand on her hair caressed it gently the one on her leg grew bold, curving around her thigh and stroking up and down, from knee to hip, its claws gently sliding on the skin.

"They're only horrible because I wake up," she replied, turning to nuzzle into his hand and sigh "I miss you, Rumplestiltskin."

It was enough to break him, and he did so with a sob, sinking further into the ground and burying his face on her half-covered lap, his arms going around her waist to keep her where he needed her. He cried like couldn't remember ever crying, with little to no finesse and a bit too much gusto, feeling her hands stroke his hair and rub his back in soothing, rhythmic circles. He wished to sink into her completely, but the cot was small and lumpy and altogether unwelcoming. He could feel the Queen's cloying magic all around them, her sturdy protections keeping Belle tied to the room, prisoner. He delved deep inside himself, summoning all of his power, all of his knowledge and, in a feat of magical prowess to defy anyone who had come before him he ripped the queen's spells to shreds, pulling them both to the safety of her rooms inside the Dark Castle. There he twined about her, using the last of his strength to coax her naked leg to wrap around his waist and to burrow his head in her chest. Then all thought left him, and he welcomed the darkness.

When he came to he found himself snugly ensconced in warmth and softness. The feather mattress beneath him felt like heaven, as did the sheets. He was wrapped around something precious and breathing and he felt nails gently scratching his nape and moving up and down his spine.

And he was purring. He didn't know he could do that.

"Shh, go back to sleep. I've got you."

He did as the voice suggested, sinking back into a dreamless sleep, content like he hadn't been in years. The second time he opened his eyes he was very awake, his body tingling in the places where it made contact with another. He realized his pillow was in fact someone's chest. Belle's chest.

"... dearie?" he whispered against her collarbone, feeling small and vulnerable. His power levels were at an all-time low and he felt languid and strange. He felt Belle's legs tighten around his hips in response to his call and had to bite his tongue to keep himself from moaning.

"I'm here," she replied, her breath ghosting across the crown of his head, ruffling his hair. He felt her press her cheek against his temple, and realized he was purring again "Do you feel better? You've been out for over a day. I've been worried."

He made a mewling noise on the back of his throat, fighting the urge to stretch and rub against her. She smelt divinely, which made no sense since he was pretty sure she had barely seen water and soap at the queen's castle and he doubted she'd left the bed in all the time they'd been there. His tongue darted out, mapping a path up her neck before he realized what he was doing and blanched, trying and failing to get away. She was wrapped around him pretty tightly, and it didn't look like she was about to budge.

"Just tired, is all," he mumbled "But it's you we should be worrying about. What did the Queen do to you, Belle?"

He felt her stiffen, a whimper escaping her lips before she could prevent it. She tightened her hold on him and said nothing, the silence deafening. He refused to press her further, feeling her had neither the right nor the heart to do it. Instead he struggled to gently disentangle himself from her, taking the greatest of care.

"You're hurt, dearie," he said, trying to sound as nonchalant about it as he could. He never quite liked people pitying him, so he figured she wouldn't appreciate it either "Those wounds need to be address immediately."

He gently took one of her wrists in his hand, trailing the other over it, willing a purple mist to appear. When it failed to he realized he really was more tired than he thought. Belle's raw and bleeding skin taunted him, and he saw her wince when he gently traced a finger across an angry blister. He couldn't let her stay that way till he recovered, with a visual reminder of the horrors of her captivity, all due to his pride and weakness.

... there was, however, another way. He lifted the wrist in his hand slowly to his face and, making sure she had plenty of time to tell him to stop if she wished it, swiped his tongue across her injured flesh, laving the scrapes and welts and leaving healed, creamy skin there. It was a little known fact that the Dark One's saliva possessed rather impressive healing properties and was a key ingredient in all of his healing potions. He rarely let anyone know, but Belle was not anyone.

Belle was everything.

He continued to carefully lick her wrist, switching to the other one when he was over. Her skin was butter-soft against his lips, smooth where it was healthy, too perfect for a creature such as he. Still he couldn't resist the appeal of such an excuse to touch her so he crawled back a bit, taken her injured ankle between his claws and clamping his mouth around it, taking care to reach every single spot of red he could see. Even her blood tasted divinely, strangely sweet and ever-so-pure and it drove the beast in him wild with desire. Purity was a foreign concept to the imp, but this purity he had a claim to. It was his to taint, to sully, his to breach and kill. And he wanted to. More than anything.

He made his way upwards, taking care to remove every last scratch and bruise that marred his love's legs, trying not to hear her faint whimpers, sighs and gasps. A jagged cut near on her left inner thigh took considerable time, and by the time it had faded away Belle was squirming atop the bed, silently asking for more. When he reached her hipbone he was forced to pause, the filthy blue shift finally getting in the way.

"Um, dearie... are you hurt anywhere else?"

He thought it gentlemanly to give her a way out, or a moment to come to her senses and push the beast hovering over her away, like she should. Instead she nodded slowly, her eyes wide and glassy and her face flushed.

"My ribs. I think I cracked a couple."

Rumplestiltskin shuddered, taking a deep breath before tearing the shift further, exposing Belle's pale belly to the cool night air around them. He skimmed his lips over her ribs till he found a couple that seemed bruised, running his tongue over the skin that covered them. He could feel the magic seeping in, looking for fissures in the bone and repairing them. He could also feel the tantalizing smoothness of Belle's skin beneath his lips and the slightly salty taste of her sweat on his tongue.

"More?" he grunted against her bellybutton, praying she'd say yes.

"Up. Please."

Her words were little more than hoarse cries, her breath hitching as he ran his clawed hands over recently-healed spots, tracing imaginary patterns that had her bucking her hips unconsciously. He lapped at some blood from a cut in the valley of her breasts, the blood there warm and delicious as it slid down his throat. Unable to resist he curled his fingers around her right breast, the claws teasing a pale pink nipple with tender delicacy. Belle arched beneath him, innocent and artless in her movements and wrapped her legs around his waist when he took the other nipple into his mouth, his teeth gently tugging at it.

"I-I-Is a kiss all that is magical about true love?" Belle's voice shook in a way he'd never heard before and he struggled to focus on it and not on the breast he was currently suckling "Can... any other displays of affection break your curse?"

For a moment he thought she honestly had no idea what she was implying, that she meant a hug or cuddling and nothing more. But Belle, apart from being a well-bread lady and a modest woman, was also a creature of insatiable curiosity and thirst for knowledge. He had no doubt she'd found plenty of books to enlighten her about the affairs of men and women.

"No," he murmured against her collarbone, nestling his head there for a moment, ear plastered to her skin to listen to the steady beat of her heart "And I do love you so..."

He expected her to startle at his confession and to seek confirmation. Instead she sighed and carded her fingers through his hair, directing his face to the breast he'd palmed minutes ago.

"I know," she replied, sliding her hands down his arms and unbuttoning his vest slowly "Show me."

Her nimble fingers divested him of his vest and soon his shirt joined the pile. He was beyond caring about his golden skin at this point, but Belle's look of utter pleasure at the sight of it left little room to self-consciousness anyway. His claws sliced the sleeves of his beauty's shift easily, the coarse cloth finally coming apart altogether. He willed it away with magic, wanting nothing but the silken sheets and his own flesh to touch his Belle. She seemed to agree with the idea, her hands resting on his hips and then fumbling for a way to open his breeches.

"Brazen little thing," he crooned into her ear, a giggle bubbling in the back of his throat at Belle's mere grunt of frustration at failing her task. A simple thought was all it took for the breeches to undo themselves, melting off of him and vanishing into thin air. For a moment they both paused, the reality of being naked in bed together catching up with them, feeling their head with doubts and apprehensions.

"It will hurt, dearie," he said, nuzzling the side of her face "And you've been hurt enough already. Are you sure...?"

Belle tightened her legs around his hips, making him moan and bury his face in the crook of her shoulder.

"I'm sure, Rumplestiltskin," she replied, voice firm and clear "Hurt me. Heal me..." her voice grew languid and soft as she whispered the last words into the air "Love me."

He wasted no time trailing a hand down her chest, past her hips and curling over her sex, willing whatever magic he still had at his disposal to do what it could to guarantee minimal pain for what was to come. His fingers traced her core lightly, pleased beyond measure when they found her sleek and ready. He braces his hands on her upper thighs then, lining them up so he could plunge into her in one smooth motion, his eyes closing and his body stilling as the feel of being inside his true love overwhelmed him. Even the part of him that was more Dark One than spinner was relishing the experience, having felt the barrier that had marked Belle as pure tear to allow him passage. The world had lost some of its innocence, and now it was the imp's most treasured possession, something to cradle close and guard.

The part that was more Rumplestiltskin than Dark One sought his love's eyes, looking for any traces of discomfort. Belle seemed startled, but there was more pleasure than pain behind her gaze, and the moan she let out when he pulled almost all the way out and then thrust back in one born of lust and not suffering. Her hands went to his shoulders, the beauty eager to participate in the act as the beast above her sought a rhythm that wouldn't make it all end too quickly but rather allowed their pleasure to build gradually. She settled tracing her nails across his chest, over his ribs and down his back, drawing blood when he changed angles and hit some sort of spot inside her that drove her wild.

"She'll never hurt you again," he swore as he plunged into her over and over, his voice fierce and almost feral "No one will ever hurt you again. You will know no pain, no suffering. Only joy. Forever."

One last thrust had them both climaxing, Belle biting her lover's shoulder to contain a rather unladylike sound. The gesture made the beast inside the imp shudder in satisfaction, purring at Belle's primal side as they both rode their orgasm together, their ragged breathing loud in the silence of the room. Belle collapsed back into the bed, Rumplestiltskin moving slightly to land beside her instead of on top of her. He nuzzled close to her, his tongue licking an overlooked purple bruise there with care as Belle panted, hair plastered to her neck and chest heaving.

"Thank you for setting me free, Rumplestiltskin," she murmured, cuddling close to him and closing her eyes, her body demanding rest. The imp giggled.

"Funny thing, dearie. I was about to say the same."


End file.
